Them Doore Girls – Narration

Tim Curry invited me to take part in a Hallowe’en podcast with several other authors, each of us reading something we felt fit the season.

Hallowe’en is celebratory to me and mine, and I didn’t think that’s what Tim had in mind.

I have written horror, though.

No, not written horribly (okay, maybe, and I’m getting better (I hope)), and not quite of horrible things (although some of my work is dark, I’ll grant you), so that set me off on a search.

I came up with two things. The first, shared last week, is a concatenation of two chapters in The Shaman, each of which deals with a succubatic kind of creature, Ellewomen. That post is, strangely enough, entitled “The Ellewomen.”

This one, Them Doore Girls, is from a horror story first published in Haunts 1992 and again in my self-published Tales Told Round Celestial Campfires 2016.

FYI, the sound quality is wanting. I find it best through headphones.

Enjoy!


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The Ellewomen

Tim Curry invited me to take part in a Hallowe’en podcast with several other authors, each of us reading something we felt fit the season.

Hallowe’en is celebratory to me and mine, and I didn’t think that’s what Tim had in mind.

I have written horror, though.

No, not written horribly (okay, maybe, and I’m getting better (I hope)), and not quite of horrible things (although some of my work is dark, I’ll grant you), so that set me off on a search.

I came up with two things. The first, presented here, is a concatenation of two chapters in The Shaman, each of which deals with a succubatic kind of creature, Ellewomen.

Enjoy!


Greetings! I’m your friendly, neighborhood Threshold Guardian. This is a protected post. Protected posts in the My Work, Marketing, and StoryCrafting categories require a subscription (starting at 1$US/month) to access. Protected posts outside those categories require a General (free) membership.
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Hallowe’en Treat – Authors Reading Ghost Stories

I and several other authors were asked to contribute to a video ghost anthology.

First, whoa! I love that kind of validation. Someone wants me to contribute my work to something? I repeat, whoa!

And what a crew!

From The Shadow’s Project Limited: They want you to be terrified on this cold autumn night because it is HALLOWEEN!

Seventeen of the world’s best writers and journalists from around the world come together for one night only to tell their Halloween stories to bring fright and delight to Halloween 2021. If you are not terrified by the end of the video you are braver than I. But I want you to be filled with fear to celebrate this wonderfully fun event,.

Chapters:
00:00 – Intro
00:19 – Dan Tynan
03:50 – Joanne Paulson
11:49 – Dawn De Braal
16.46 – Cori Nevruz
20:20 – Dylan Brody
40:27 – Matt Adcock
46:18 – Jeremy Herriges
53:46 – Joseph Carrabis (my contribution’s from The Shaman)
01:00:05 – Terry Melia
01:05:08 – A.B. Neilly
01:10:26 – David Pipe
01:15:16 -J.E. Branham
01:21:37 – Amit Bhanot
01:28:08 – Tasha Brown
01:33:38 – G. Quinn Rogers
01:38:44 – A.C. Merkel
01:44:03 – Elaine Marie Carnegie
01:50:04 – Outro

CONTACT THE WRITERS ON TWITTER
Terry Melia
Dan Tynan
Joanne Paulson
Dawn Debraal
Cori Nevruz
Dylan Brody
Matt Adcock
Joseph Carrabis
Elaine Marie Carnegie
A.C. Merkel
Jeremy Herriges
Tasha Brown
G Quinn Rogers
David Pipe
A.B. Neilly

Watch it on YouTube or below:

(and let us know what you think)

The Boy Who Loved Horses

Years ago I studied in Appalachia and met some amazing people. The Boy Who Loved Horses came from my time spent with them.

It’s had a long publishing history: Pulphouse May ’94, Tales Told ‘Round Celestial Campfires 2016, and Allegory May 2020.

Enjoy.

The Boy Who Loved Horses

I was born in a town like this. Mine’s on the eastern ridge and closer to Raleigh. My town had the same dirt roads, the same one-room wooden church, the same old store where you asked for things instead of getting them yourself, the same people but with different faces, the same old men carrying coon rifles, girls getting married when they’re thirteen and younger, having kids before they’re through being kids themselves, the same sense of what’s ours and what’s not. I left my town and got educated. Made it into the extension service. Decided to come back and help others in towns like mine. My education didn’t take all the hill out of me, though. Knew enough to carry a gun in case I got too close to a still. But it did take some of the hill away. I forgot about towns like this.

I came here about a year ago; my big, state-issue Buick all shiny as it passed suspicious eyes. The state needed a count of school age children to qualify for funding and I came to count the children in this town.

Hill’re wary of anything new. They saw my car and suit and whispered “city” as I passed. It was true. When I come to this town, I acted like I was an educated man and everybody was suspicious of me. I went into the general store and bought a pop, sat down and tried to talk with some of the folk. Took me a while, but I got a nod, then a wink, then a smile. Turns out some of us had kin.

Eventually had to tell them why I came. They got quiet after that. I asked if there was some place I could spend the night. Nobody said. I should’ve left. I know hill. I known the signs. One of the men, Burt, left. The rest of us talked some more and, when there was no more to say, I thanked them all and left.

I saw Burt as I drove out of town. He was walking, two steps forward and one step back, and I could tell he was tasting squeeze since he left the store. Should’ve kept on driving. Should’ve known. Hill’s got mysteries they need to keep. “Hey, Burt, you need a ride?” I opened the door for him and he winked and handed me his bottle getting in.

Burt lived in a cabin up a short, rutty, old road about a mile out of town. We drove there talking hill, talking kin. By the time we got to Burt’s cabin, he was smelling like a coon’s been rolling in ‘shine. There was another jug on his table. He offered me more but drank most of it himself. “They won’t tell you about the boy,” he said.


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Recovery Triptych: The Echo

Recovery Triptych took shape 9 Feb 1990. Originally I conceived only this section, The Echo. I shared it with a critique group and was told I shouldn’t submit anything to the group containing such vulgarity and violence (see Writers Groups – Critiquing Methods – Ruled to Death, third bullet). I remember thinking at the time, “You think this has vulgarity and violence? You’ve had a protected life, huh?”

The triptych’s three parts are:

  1. The Echo
  2. Welcome to My Sandbox
  3. The Stone in God’s Sling

Here for the first time in slightly over thirty years and continuing over the next three Mondays, Recovery Triptych.

It is precisely because a child’s feelings are so strong that they cannot be repressed without serious consequences. The stronger a prisoner is, the thicker the prison walls have to be, which impede or completely prevent later emotional growth.
– Alice Miller, The Drama of the Gifted Child

The Echo

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Members and Subscribers can LogIn. Non members can join. Non-protected posts (there are several) are available to everyone.
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